Sweet as Honey
by Right or Ryn
Summary: You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar…and Draco Malfoy, Hermione decided, was the biggest fly she’d ever seen. Once she caught him, she would squash him.
1. And So It Begins

**A/N: **FYI: this chapter has been edited.

**Summary:** You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar…and Draco Malfoy, Hermione decided, was the biggest fly she'd ever seen. Once she caught him, she would squash him.

**Disclaimer:** Wish I may; wish I might, to be JK Rowling, just for one night. (Oh, to have billions at my disposal…) Alas, it is not so and never will be.

* * *

**Sweet as Honey**

**Chapter One**: And So It Begins

_"Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies." –Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

There was no mistaking the platinum blond mop scurrying through the halls, expertly weaving in and around the multitude of students cluttering the corridors (though woe be unto whoever attempted to tell the blond he was a scurrier). At Hogwarts, if you saw red hair you thought Weasley; if you saw blond hair you thought Malfoy. It was as simple as that. And as there were currently four Weasleys attending Hogwarts and only one Malfoy, the blond was definitely the more distinctive of the two no matter what hypocritical comments Malfoy made about the distinctiveness of the Weasley's hair.

Hermione leaned precariously against the railing of a nondescript marble stairway, bookmarking her latest read and absently placing it in her bag while observing the students during one of the breaks in her chaotic class schedule. To be honest, the first time she saw Draco Malfoy on the train to Hogwarts in First Year her initial thought was of Marilyn Monroe quickly followed by the thought was of her cousin Brittany the Bleached-Blonde Bimbo. She'd been tempted to inform Draco that bleach could cause lasting and irrevocable brain damage, as it had to her cousin, but surprisingly she kept her mouth shut for once. Did wizards even dye their hair? No. Of course not. That was silly of her. '_Way to almost flaunt your ignorance of this world Hermione_' she had thought.

She then thought of another possibility. Maybe somebody had jinxed him. That seemed more plausible, as what male would purposely choose such an obnoxious, _feminine_ hair color, and she wondered if he'd let her try her hand, or wand rather, at performing the counter curse. This world was all terribly new to her, and Hermione was anxious to perform magic and prove she deserved to be a part of it. However, all thoughts of Clorox Bleach and counter-curses left her mind when she'd heard him open his mouth and saw him lift his nose with the most superior air she'd ever seen.

Five years later, nothing much had changed… yet.

Hermione shook her head and shouldered her school bag, once again thankful of the lightening charm she'd found her third year as she pushed her way down the familiar short-cut to the library. She had both mounds of homework and high expectations on her shoulders. Let nobody say Hermione Granger was a procrastinator.

* * *

One look at the scowl on Draco Malfoy's face and first years of all Houses scrambled out of the way, fearing for their lives. It was a free period and he needed somewhere he could think, away from the noise and from the rain outside. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could be alone. Draco spun in a tight circle, his dark robes billowing around him in a manner that was uncannily similar to his Head of House, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand tightly. 

He needed quiet.

He needed solitude.

_He needed the library._

Now single-minded in his task, he pushed his other worries a side. He had to take this whole situation one step at a time, and that first step was to get to the library. After he got there then he could think.

A sense of propriety, dignity, and a lifetime of training were the only things that kept him from breaking into a dead run. The unfortunates that were dimwitted enough to stray into his path were forcibly removed and bestowed with an unconscious yet nonetheless scathing insult before they even knew what hit them.

Finally he found the library and strode through the doors, confident that here he would find his solace. Here he would find his place to think. Though he didn't often come to the library, he'd visited enough to know that the intimidating Madam Pince maintained the silence and sanctity of her library at any and all costs, occasionally traumatizing a first year or two so badly in the process that they never returned.

Draco, of course, was not one of those that feared Madam Pince. The reason he never frequented the library, the reason Slytherins in general never frequented the library, was that they had no need to. The Slytherin common room had quite an extensive collection of books and research material that was usually sufficient enough to complete any assignment given by a Professor, and only occasionally would one of the silver and green be forced to make the trek to the library to be among the less worthy for a measly book or two that the Slytherin common room didn't contain.

With his second step through the library doors he remembered the other reason he didn't visit the library, and automatically his lip rose into a sneer. This place had become Mudblood territory. How could he forget that the bossy bushy-haired, grade-grubbing, not to mention Mudblooded bookworm Granger had practically taken up residence within these walls?

Nevertheless, he needed the library, and he wasn't about to be chased off because of Potty and Weasel's annoyance of a surrogate mother had no life. She would simply have to go.

For one who was supposedly 'the most intelligent witch of her age' (how it rankled Draco every time he heard the simpering professors she had wrapped around her finger expound in nauseating detail about her brilliance, thankfully his own head of house was among those who didn't), she was an idiot. Granger had sat down at one of the tables nearest the Potion's section and was surrounded by at least ten different volumes on the subject, possibly twelve. But that wasn't the reason Draco inwardly scoffed. Oh no. The reason? She was all by her lonesome with her mudblooded back was to the door. A mistake no Slytherin would ever make. She was vulnerable to every man, woman and/or magical creature that walked through that door, and right now, that included Draco. With just a few short, silent strides he was at her table with her none-the-wiser. How pathetic.

"Leave. Now," he spat contemptuously, prodding her back with the rolled up letter because Merlin forbid his skin actually touch hers. After the incident in third year he'd spent nearly an hour decontaminating himself to try and rid his body of all the Muggle diseases Mudbloods carried.

The startled Gryffindor jumped in her seat and turned around, nearly knocking the largest potions tome Draco had ever seen in his life on his foot, the clumsy wench.

"I said be gone Mudblood," he leered down at her when he saw no response to his earlier command. And, speaking from experience, if anything could get a response from Granger it was that eight letter expletive.

Startlingly, his favorite word didn't produce the reaction he was expecting.

"Oh. Hello Draco. Have you begun your potion's essay yet?" she smiled, gesturing to the piece of parchment in front of her, her comment taking him completely and utterly by surprise. He took a step backwards and his narrowed eyes widened to their fullest possible capacity. It was a rather comical spectacle actually.

Within a span of seconds a myriad of thoughts flew through his head. The foremost of which was that she said his name. Had she, in all the long, intolerable years that he'd known her, ever addressed him by his first name? No such instance came to mind.

His eyes narrowed once again. What was the chit playing at?

Granger sat there pleasantly waiting for his answer, the damn, dare he say _friendly_ smile still firmly plastered on her face. Something was very, very wrong here.

"Well, have you?" she tilted her head to the side and asked him in a tone that if it had come from anyone else, Draco would've sworn had been amicable teasing. Draco had no idea what in the seven bloody hells was going on, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

"No Granger, I haven't." he answered, surprising himself and losing his Slytherin composure in the process. Yet again he slipped-up. And he called himself a Malfoy! Thank Merlin his father wasn't around to see this. Was it possible someone slipped anything in his food? Had that bleeding heart Granger hired his former House-Elf, Doobly or something similar, to poison him? Had he hit his head recently? He would have noticed if he was struck by a bludger, but maybe he knocked himself out and his teammates were too afraid to tell him. Or maybe… or maybe there some kind of compulsion charm on him?

"Well I'm nearly done. Would you like any help on yours? The part about knowing when to add dragon's blood and asphodel root was confusing, but after you figure that out the rest is rather simple," came Granger's casual response. Draco defensively crossed his arms at the girl's open, friendly blathering, clearly on guard.

"No, you annoying twat. What I'd like is for your filthy blooded self to leave my sight, right now." Draco said the first caustic, acerbic insult he could think of, now nearly desperate to regain the upper hand.

"Oh," Granger said, eyeing the expensive parchment he was holding, not realizing he was clutching it protectively against his chest until he followed her line of sight. Oh no, no, no. Was that pity he saw?

Hastily, he stuffed it into his robes, but the damage had been done. "You need to be alone now? I understand." She smiled sympathetically and gathered up her books with a murmured incantation and flick of her wand while picking up a tattered old clothe sack that seemed to practically be bursting at the seams.

"And Draco?" she brushed by him on her way out, her hand actually daring to rest on his shoulder. "The name's Hermione."

**

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**

**A/N: **So yes, I decided to continue with this story. I know, I know. It's been awhile, but muses are fickle things. Thankfully, I was struck by inspiration recently. Actually, I was struck by inspiration during a ghastly five-hour car trip with my family (and two dogs!) both to and from a soccer tournament- and after all that we only got second place scowls. (Trust me; you've never smelt anything worse in your life then what I had to endure. Imagine it- wet dog and smelly soccer shoes trapped in one tiny, enclosed space for FIVE HOURS. Simply disgusting). My laptop was the only thing that kept me sane.

Anyway, long story short, the next chapter should be posted fairly soon. (Within the next couple of hours) Let's all cross our fingers, shall we?


	2. For Better or Worse

**Sweet as Honey**

**Chapter Two**: For Better or Worse

* * *

_"Your conscience doesn't always keep you from doing wrong, but it does keep you from enjoying it." _

_

* * *

_

"You really said that? Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick."

Ginny Weasley scowled and swatted her brother upside the head. "Oh hush up Ron, if anyone has the right to be sick here, it's Hermione," Ginny turned from the older boy and glanced apprehensively at Hermione. "You are okay, right?"

"Yeah," Hermione smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine. I just-" she glanced around the Common Room, noting all who had come to the meeting- her first report. Harry sat anxiously, eagerly in front of her. Ginny, sitting directly between Harry and her brother, looked concerned if not a little devious. Ron seemed as if he couldn't decide between anger, nauseousness, and excitement like Harry. Neville sat to the left of Harry, appearing confused as to how he was included the meeting in the first place. "I just-" she repeated, "We're doing the right thing, aren't we?"

She was met by an incredulous stare from Harry. "Hermione, this was your idea in the first place, remember?"

"Yes. I know, I know," she fidgeted nervously with the edge of her uniform skirt. "It just feels so… so wrong, tricking him like this- it's something a Slytherin would do. We're supposed to be better than them, morals and decency and all that."

"But it's Malfoy!" Harry shouted as if that should have been reason enough.

"Think of all the horrible names he's called you Hermione," Ron said, recalling, as they all were, the incident in second year where one of those names caused him to eat slugs, quite literally.

"And those are just names. Sticks and stones, you know?" she supplied weakly.

"Hermione," Harry looked at her, gazing so intently, so fiercely she felt consumed by green. "Hermione, this is Malfoy we're talking about. Draco _Malfoy_. His entire family is evil. They're _Death Eaters_ Hermione, Death Eaters. As in they willingly work for Voldemort, torturing and killing innocent Witches, Wizards and Muggles. For. Sport."

Hermione looked down at her skirt and winced. "Yes but-"

"Do you remember the Diary?" Ginny spoke up softly and all the heads in the room turned to her, uncomfortable and apprehensive. She never talked about the time she was possessed by Tom Riddle's diary. Never. It was something of a taboo subject amongst them; one that wasn't easily breached. "Because of him I don't remember half of my first year at Hogwarts, and what I do remember was a nightmare. He almost made me kill. I almost died. You almost died. Harry almost died."

Hermione stared at Ginny, blinking several times. She felt something deep in her chest swell and simultaneously die. Ginny's face was hard. Her voice was hard. Her entire demeanor was hard.

Hermione took this in and swallowed. She nodded, making her choice, for better or worse. "Okay, I'll do it."

Ginny didn't say anything else, she just nodded back. Harry smiled though. He smiled and reached over to clasp her shoulder like a proud father. To be honest, she felt a little sick. "Great. Now first thing's first is to find out just what was in that letter."

* * *

"Unbelievable! Absolutely UN-BELIEVABLE!" Hermione ranted. "I can't even _believe_-"

"That's generally what happens when something's unbelievable."

"-do be quiet Ron," Hermione responded without breaking her stride, "that that _evil _woman would do something like this. And to another human being too! I mean- I mean _how_? How is that even possible? It's not even feasible. I can't even comprehend… she's- she's a monster!" Hermione's whole face contorted. She wasn't angry; she was furious.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the hall and bunched up her fists, biting her cheek and narrowing her eyes. Ron stood there and watched her pause, indecision marring her face. "I- We've got to tell Dumbledore."

"No Hermione," Ron cut her off sternly. "We promised Harry we wouldn't."

"But we have to help him! We have to do something!" she threw her hands up in the air. "We can't just-just leave him by himself, Ron!"

"So we don't."

"This is Harry we're talking about. Our best- wait. What did you say?" Hermione turned to stare at him intently once her brain caught up with her mouth.

Ron plunged his hands in his pockets before pulling them out a second later and running them threw his hair, a nervous gesture he must have picked up from Harry. "We promised him that we wouldn't go to a professor, but that doesn't mean _we_ can't do anything, right? I mean, sense when did we ever rely on a teacher?"

Hermione blinked. Once, twice, three times. Then she smiled. It was gleeful, and it was devious. Ginny would have been proud.

"Ron, you're a genius!" she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, only to run off down the corridor, not there to see Ron touch his cheek, blushing furiously.

She wasn't there to see it, but Draco was.

* * *

She stood at the edge, unsteadily waiting.

Should she or shouldn't she?

"Granger, what in Merlin's sweaty ballsack are you doing?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Oh, hello Draco. How are you?" she asked pleasantly, dipping into the water slowly, cautiously. One toe at a time.

"Are you insane?"

_Quite possibly. _

She smiled self-depreciatingly and the thought, '_The question that sometimes drives me hazy, am I or the others crazy?'_ flitted involuntarily across her mind.

Hermione turned around to meet him face to face. His features were closed off and cold, his whole rigid posture screamed 'I'm above you'. It took a great effort for Hermione to force a smile onto her features that appeared halfway genuine.

"Perhaps. But everyone's a little crazy in their own way, don't you think?"

If she thought smiling at him was difficult, keeping eye contact was nigh impossible. His stare was disconcerting to say the least, almost as if she was a strange creature he had never seen before and he wasn't sure whether to be interested or repulsed.

Looking away first would have been a sign of submissiveness. It was a caveman fight for dominance. She was determined to play his game, but did he ever blink?

She took another step into the water.

"I have no idea what the fuck you thought you were doing here Mudblood, and I don't give a Hufflepuff's arse. You are going to leave. Right now."

Contrary to popular belief, Hermione was still affected by that word. She hated it. She hated it so, _so_ much, and she knew she always would. It was something like the N-word, and no one could really understand how that felt to be called it until they were. But even though it still hurt, sometime in the summer after fourth year, she realized something. She wasn't bothered by what was said so much as who said it. She would probably die if Harry or Ron called her that word, but her opinion of Draco Malfoy was anything but respectful.

"Huh. Déjà vu," she laughed lightly, inwardly cursing him a thousand and one slow and excruciatingly painful deaths.

He started at her reaction, or rather lack thereof.

"I think we've had this conversation before Draco," she teased him, kicking the lake water at her feet, all the while imagining how many times she'd have to brush her teeth to get the bad taste out of her mouth.

She watched him expectantly with a half smile on her face.

"Just who the _fuck_ do you think you're talking to, you bloody cunt?" he asked in a menacingly low undertone and something clicked for her.

Hermione laughed, and this time it wasn't an act. She really and truly laughed. She clutched her side; the revelation was almost too much. "Oh Draco, I'm not so much of a self-righteous easily offended prude that you can scare me off with a bad attitude and naughty words."

The sun shone brightly without a cloud in the sky reflecting off the surface of the lake, not at all the setting that would be appropriate for this conversation, confrontation really. There should have at least been some tempestuous swirling winds in the background and angry, swollen gray clouds in the sky.

A bird sang in the distance and Malfoy colored.

'_Then again,' _Hermione mused amusedly, '_maybe the weather is absolutely perfect.' _

Malfoy reached into the left sleeve of his school robe and extracted his wand in one fluid motion, but not before Hermione plucked her own from out behind her ear- an idea she'd gotten from Luna- and casually leveled it at him.

"I've got one too Draco," she responded carelessly twirling it around her fingers, yet still managed to convey a kind of strength, a threat. She felt like such a badass. "Look."

She watched him seriously consider hexing her, but decide against it like she knew he would. It would have been a mistake, and he knew that. Meeting his eyes, she knew that he knew that she knew that he knew he wouldn't do it, or however the rest of that story goes. Besides, it wasn't his style, openly dueling. He may have been a childish bully, but despite whatever protests Ron and Harry made to the refute it, Malfoy was smart. And a Slytherin. He wouldn't fight unless the balance was tipped in his favor and he would clearly come out the victor. Hermione wasn't one of the witless first years that he was used to ordering around either.

He didn't put his wand away, but he did lower it.

She did the same.

"What are you doing Granger?" he finally asked. "What are you playing at?"

Ah, and there it was. The Question.

"I haven't fallen in love with you or want to be your best friend or anything silly like that if that's what you're thinking," she said glibly, going over it just like she did when Ginny made her rehearse it in front of the mirror countless times. It was almost scary how good Ginny was at manipulation she had thought idly.

At Malfoy's skeptical look, she continued frankly. "A couple of days ago I was sitting in the library – you can save your wisecracks, I've heard them all already – and I was mulling over this whole Gryffindor Slytherin, muggleborn pureblood mess, and it hit me how very childish all of it was. We're not eleven anymore, you know? We should be able to see past the labels. And anyways, my opinion bigoted opinion of Slytherins was pretty hypocritical. You can't fight prejudice with prejudice, and it was past time I realized that. So I decided to stop needlessly picking fights and just be nice. It was surprisingly simple actually," she shrugged nonchalantly.

She squished her toes down in the muck at the bottom of the lake. Malfoy wasn't saying anything, not like she expected he would. Standing stock-still, he appeared taken aback by her 'openness'. She took a indomitable step forwards and yelped an involuntary "OW!". Hermione felt a sharp, piercing pain on the bottom of her foot and lifted it up to find a jagged piece of a butterbeer cap, of all things, lodged on the pad of her foot, right under her big toe. Frowning, she wrenched it off and watched with some amusement at the irony as her blood mingled with mud from the lake and slid across the bottom of her foot to drip slowly – drip, drip, drip – into the water only to disappear a moment later.

She raised her wand, tightening her formerly lose grip until she felt her nails cut into her palm around the wood, and cast _Aguamenti_ to wash away the mud and blood. Once her foot was clean, she tapped the cut lightly before the blood was given a chance to well up again and muttered, _Episky_.

Noting with satisfaction it had healed cleanly with no sign of the wound ever being present, she absently applauded the wonders of magic in a way she still hadn't been able to shake after nearly five years in the Wizarding World. '_No stitches, no scar.'_

She waded out of the water, cautious now as to where to place her feet. Only once she felt grass did she look up and notice he was gone.

Malfoy was gone.

* * *

_I am not running away. _

_I am not running away. _

_I am not running away. _

Draco repeated the mantra to himself even as he ducked around a tree to make sure he would be out of Granger's line of sight if she ever happened to pick her bushy head up, hoping the words would take on meaning.

He felt angry and cheated. Saying he didn't trust the lying little Gryffindor would be an understatement. He didn't know how, but she knew, she _knew_, that the lake was his spot. His spot to think and be alone, not for annoying Mudbloods to interfere and stick their brown little noses where they didn't belong.

This was no coincidence.

He moved without direction, and when he passed the pumpkin patch belonging to that brainless half-breed who was thankfully absent – hopefully forever. He pulled out his wand and took a savage pleasure in _reducto'ing_ a majority of the patch into an orange nothing.

When his anger finally passed him, he _scourgified_ and area of the patch that was particularly secluded, sat down, and pulled out a now severely tattered, wrinkly letter. He read it again for what must have been the hundredth time, trying to find a secret meaning behind it. To decipher whatever code it was written in.

Resisting the urge to rip it in half – again – he carefully folded the expensive vellum and placed it in the inner pocket of his robe, right above his heart.

He left for the Common Room, not noticing a set of footprints imbedded in the squashed pumpkin. Crabbe and Goyle were most likely forgetting to breathe again with no one there to remind them, and besides, he had a potion's essay to finish.

* * *

Hermione sat anxiously waiting in the Gryffindor Common Room. '_Headquarters really'_, she mused absently.

Tucked into a corner of the Common Room, they sat on the floor, fairly secluded. Hermione had cast a silencing charm she picked up from Moody over the summer that allowed them to talk freely without fear of catching a curious second year or Colin Creevey listening in. The Marauder's Map was splayed out on the ground between them.

After she noticed Malfoy left she plucked her socks that were rolled up inside of her dress shoes and pulled them on. She smoothed her skirt and straightened her tie before surreptitiously glancing side to side, pulling out the Marauder's Map from her pocket. Luckily, he had let her words get inside his head, at least a little. She had watched the little dot labeled Draco Malfoy trudge up to Hagrid's hut and sit for awhile, closely followed by a dot that read Ginerva Weasley.

Convened in the corner of the Common Room, Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione waited for the youngest Weasley, some more nervously than others.

"Why did she have to be the one to do it?" Ron asked, again.

Hermione sighed, again. "Because Ronald, she's small and won't make any noise, unlike some of us who have all the grace of the Giant Squid," she said, pointedly eyeing Ron, the long-limbed monster, and a surprisingly tall Neville.

"Harry isn't tall," Ron replied stubbornly, tossing a thumb at his best friend who didn't appear too happy at having how vertically challenged he was talked about so bluntly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And we all know how well Harry can keep his temper around Malfoy, don't we? You and I both know Ginny was our only option, and it's not like this was a life or death mission. She's quiet and won't blow our cover."

Ron pouted, knowing Hermione was right, like usual, only made his temper worse. He opened his mouth to make a comment, undoubtedly a rude one, when Neville spoke up.

"Look!" Neville yelled, putting Hermione's silencing charm to the test. Everyone turned to look at him, and he blushed as red as any Weasley. "The um, the dot's moving," he finished quietly.

Simultaneously, as though they'd planned it beforehand, all four heads leaned in and converged over the map, watching the black dot labeled Draco Malfoy storm off in the direction they knew to be the Slytherin Common Room. Hermione bit her lip, holding her breath as the other dot, the one labeled Ginerva Weasley, stood motionless for what seemed like forever. In reality, it only took a span of about two minutes before Ginny's dot moved and Hermione could feel all three boys relax. '_That little minx,' _Hermione noted with some humor. _'She's got Harry and Neville both under her thrall, and they don't even know it. Heck, I bet she doesn't even know it.' _

Smiling, she traced Ginny's movement throughout the castle until she reached the Fat Lady and stepped through the portrait.

"Did you find out?"

"How'd it go?"

"Are you okay?"

All three boys pounced on Ginny at the same time. She shared a look with Hermione that clearly said 'boys' and rolled her eyes. "Sort of, it was fine, and yes," she answered as she thrust the invisibility cloak into Harry's arms.

They took a moment to release the breaths they hadn't known they were holding and digest this information.

"What was Malfoy doing by Hagrid's house?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Ginny's face darkened. "He had a little rich boy temper tantrum and destroyed half of Hagrid's giant pumpkins." She ripped off her shoe, hopping around a bit frustrated when it wouldn't come right off. Finally it gave, and she showed them the tread with mushy orange pumpkin goo stuck in it. "See, look."

Everybody frowned. They all knew how much pride Hagrid took in raising those pumpkins and how he preened on Halloween when everybody praised the size of them. Now, on top of the worry they had for when he finally came back – and he would – he would have that to deal with.

"Did you read the letter?" Hermione spoke up.

Ginny only frowned harder, though this time it was more out of confusion than anger.

"Well, come on. What did his bastard of a father say? Order him to drown any puppies?" Ron asked eagerly in a 'get to the point' type voice. Hermione didn't even bother chastising him for the obscenity.

"It wasn't from his father," Ginny said, everybody blinked. "It was from someone who called himself the Half-blood Prince."

* * *

**A/N: **There's a lot of jumping around in this chapter. I hope it wasn't too much, too fast. I'll let you guys decide.

I know there's a lot of debate over whether or not Hermione's a good liar. Personally, I believe she's an excellent liar, she just has a strong conscience/moral compass. It would keep her from lying to someone she cared about like Harry, Ginny, or Ron, but for people she doesn't hold in high regard... watch out, especially if she's doing something for the greater good or to benefit someone she loves. I cite Umbridge and 'the secret weapon' as a perfect example. (Be warned, I dislike Dolores Jane more than I do Voldemort. A lot more. It'll be obvious).

Oh, and to give credit where credit's due, the quote that Hermione thought, _"The question that sometimes drives me hazy, am I or the others crazy?" _was from none other than the late, great king of relativity himself, Albert Einstein. Also, if anyone knows who said the conscience quote, please let me know. I didn't say it, but I don't know who did. Just know I'm not taking credit for it.

So...

Let's hear some feedback! (And keep in mind, this story is AU from fifth year)


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